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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657974">No Lifeguard on Duty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains'>Dancains</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>? - Freeform, A really slight amount of internalized homophobia, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ed just...being kind of socially awkward, Edward Little probably has a swim goggle fetish, For some reason this vaguely takes place in like 2012, Homosexuality, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Stooges being stooges, Swimming, Swimming Pools, This probably doesn't warrant the M rating but I'm playing it safe, Which isn't super relevant but jsyk, silent disco</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:14:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He had flipped the dial on the wall nearby for the jets and soon sank into the steaming, bubbling water with a heavy sigh of relief. Leaning back on his elbows and closing his eyes, he drowned out what splashing and sporadic conversation he could hear in the distance, and just focused on the thrumming sounds of the jets. Consciously, he deepened each breath he took, like the few times he had attempted to meditate, trying to block out the stress of classes, studying, exams...and especially handsome boys at the Uni swim complex.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lt George Hodgson &amp; Lt John Irving &amp; Lt Edward Little, Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Lifeguard on Duty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I think I started writing this.....last October? And then forgot about it. And then finished it last night. yeah. I think I just really wanted to go for a swim.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Gonna finish that one, George?" Ed gestured errantly with one chopstick at a half empty take-away carton of chow mein, just one piece in the Thursday night spread now haphazardly splayed across their coffee table. </p><p>He didn't have any classes with George or John on Thursdays, nor did they have any with each other, so it usually ended up being the night they ate in together, typically late. After a solid three hours at his desk, it felt nice to sit cross-legged on their thick rug, the one John's mum had insisted he buy to "cozy up that common room a little".</p><p>Draped across the sofa, with his glasses folded and tucked into the v-neck of his jumper, George toyed with the cellophane wrapper from his fortune cookie. "I think we should go swimming."</p><p>"What?" Ed replied inelegantly, mouth half-full. "Now?"</p><p>"You aren't supposed to swim after you eat," John piped in as if it was the most obvious course of conversation in the world. "You get cramps, don't you?"</p><p>"Not me personally," said George. </p><p>John's eyes raised to the ceiling, no doubt silently asking his creator for the patience to deal with his two closest friends.</p><p>"It's dark out," Edward rolled a stiff shoulder, "besides, didn't you go swimming yesterday morning? Or the day before, at least."</p><p>"I <i>like</i> swimming. It's good exercise, you know. Easy on the joints." Setting aside his wrapper, the music education major waggled his fingers in a way he was often inclined to.</p><p>"I've heard the chlorine can make you lose your hair," Ed muttered darkly. </p><p>John had a sudden coughing fit while scraping the remnants of kung pao from his styrofoam plate. </p><p>"I'm still taller than you, Edward Little," George replied, unphased, "and they don't have Rogaine for that, far as I know."</p><p>Ed made a face, in lieu of a clever response, before draining the last of his can of Pepsi.</p><p>"I'd actually go swimming if you're serious. Sort of warm today," John mused from his perch on the armchair, one leg folded over the other, almost primly. "Unusually warm, for this time of the year."</p><p>"It's settled, then." George clapped his hands, suddenly rising.</p><p>"Alright," Ed relented, "let me get changed."</p><p> </p><p>Admittedly it was nice to get out and stretch his legs. After a brief sojourn down two blocks and across the grassy commons, the three of them found themselves at Franklin University's indoor swim complex. George swiped his student ID card in the door.</p><p>"They just added that," he said as an aside, before pushing open the door. “And a jacuzzi tub. Probably where all the money that should go to the music department ends up.”</p><p>The blue-green of the pool nearly glowed in the dim fluorescent light, bracketed by the bank of high windows above it, only pitch-colored night visible from their frames. Ed couldn't remember the last time he had been at a swimming pool, but the sharp scent of it brought back waves of memory, most vividly of his numerous siblings driving the lifeguard at their community pool utterly mad. It seemed ages ago.</p><p>Unceremoniously, they dumped their towels and things on a couple of plastic lounge chairs. Ed stripped down to his swim shorts. Already a step ahead of him, John was experimentally dipping his toe in the deep end of the pool.</p><p>Unable to stop himself, he gave John a firm shove; it was a victory Ed had scant time to enjoy, as George was right behind him, trying to do the same to him. If he had a second to prepare himself he might have been able to stand his ground—George was a certifiable lightweight, after all—but the surprise attack had him toppling into the water.</p><p>It was cold at first, not freezing but cold, and as he opened his eyes under the pool's surface he could make out John's blurred, paddling legs some two meters away. Instead of coming up immediately, he let himself sink down for a moment, encapsulating himself in the vivid blue silence. Now here would be a place to really sit and think, he mused, if only he could breathe underwater. </p><p><i>"George!"</i> he barked, when he finally came back up, shaking water from his wavy hair the same way his family's old Newfoundland used to.</p><p>John seemed to come from nowhere, pettishly splashing him in the face. He could be so childish sometimes, Ed reflected.</p><p>"That's for pushing me in!"</p><p>He grimaced, tasting some of the pool water in his mouth, but before any chance of retaliation, their attention was drawn elsewhere. George was standing on the diving board.</p><p>"I'm expecting tens across the board, fair judges."</p><p>He did succeed in doing some sort of flip, Ed would later admit, before landing in a horrendous sounding belly flop. Alongside him, John visibly cringed.</p><p> </p><p>Less than ten minutes had passed before they found themselves, three grown men, arguing intensely about the rules of Marco Polo.</p><p>"Alright guys," Ed huffed, I'll be it, if you both just shut up."</p><p>His two friends conceded, and soon he was wandering about the shallow end of the pool with his eyes shut, shouting out at intervals and waiting for John and George's responses. After what felt like a short eternity, he could clearly hear footsteps on the cement surrounding the pool. He grinned.</p><p>Shouting, he made his call: "I know one of you fuckers got out of the—" </p><p>He opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar man standing a meter or so away from the pool's edge, looking as if Ed had nearly given him a heart attack.</p><p>"Sorry!"</p><p>The man gave an awkward laugh, his thick brows still arched in surprise. Hurriedly he crossed another meter or so to step into the men's locker room. Slightly incongruous with his surroundings, he had been wearing a dark collared shirt and slacks, not unlike what waiters wore at nice restaurants, and a gym bag had been slung over his shoulders. His clothes weren’t what had grabbed Ed’s attention though.</p><p><i>The eyes on that one, </i> he thought. <i>God. Not to mention those lips—</i></p><p>Behind him, Ed heard George burst out in a fit of bubbling laughter. Ed groaned.</p><p>Feeling slightly winded-—and slightly peeved—he decided to take a break from their horseplay, perching himself on the lip of the cement with his feet still in the water and watched as John attempted, poorly, to do an underwater handstand.</p><p>He couldn't help but glance up, and then give a double-take, as the same man emerged from the locker room a few moments later, clad only in a Speedo, of all things. Ed couldn't recall ever seeing a bloke under the age of 45 wearing one (and let alone one who actually looked good in it). <i>Really good</i>—lean and angled without looking overly sharp, and with a subtle layer of muscle in his arms and shoulders. The quintessential swimmer's build.</p><p>Thankfully, the man didn't seem to notice his uncomfortable staring, his zen-like focus seemed to be entirely set upon diving into the deep end and piercing the water with his body in one clean, evidently well-practiced movement.</p><p>A warm sense of guilt pooled in Ed’s stomach as he watched him, the man's form neat and precise as he made a quick lap across the pool’s length inside one of the lanes designated with floating dividers, and turned on a dime to do the same in reverse. Ed didn't think he'd ever been so mesmerized by someone doing the breaststroke in his life. He stared down at his bare feet in the water, if only to stop looking like an absolute perv.</p><p>It wasn’t that he was really surprised by his own attraction. If anything, he had been hoping that at University he might finally have the opportunity to act out on something he’d suspected of himself since he was in his early teens. After years of excuses for why he never dated, now he wouldn’t have to make them here. Still, Ed didn’t want self-exploration to come at the expense of making someone else uncomfortable with his attention.</p><p>“I might hit the hot tub,” he called out to George, who seemed all the more occupied in holding John’s feet above the water, as the religious studies major tried once again to properly straighten his arms underneath. His friend barely spared him a nod.</p><p>Having almost acclimated to the temperature of the air, the in-ground jacuzzi tucked away into one corner of the space felt like stepping into a hot soup. He had flipped the dial on the wall nearby for the jets and soon sank into the steaming, bubbling water with a heavy sigh of relief. Leaning back on his elbows and closing his eyes, he drowned out what splashing and sporadic conversation he could hear in the distance, and just focused on the thrumming sounds of the jets. Consciously, he deepened each breath he took, like the few times he had attempted to meditate, trying to block out the stress of classes, studying, exams...and especially handsome boys at the Uni swim complex.</p><p>He wasn't sure how many minutes had passed until a figure entered his peripheral vision. He was sure that his brain completely stopped all of its functions, for a full few seconds at least, as the ebony-haired lap swimmer stood in front of him.</p><p>"You don't mind if I, erm—" He gestured to the hot tub.</p><p>"No. No, not at all," Ed replied, trying his best to sound utterly casual. Perhaps he had delved a bit too far into the meditation stuff, or the steam had gone to his head, and he was imagining this.</p><p>The rippling water seemed to be quite real, at least, as the man slowly eased himself into the jacuzzi, unknowingly giving Ed ample time to drink in an eyeful. He could have taken his time studying the way his now-damp hair hung in his face, the handsome lines of his jaw and neck, or the alluring trail of hair below his navel and spread lightly over his chest. Instead, a vivid white scar that ran down the swimmer’s left thigh captured his attention, before it disappeared below the water’s bubbling surface. </p><p>"I hope my friends and I weren't bothering you, in the pool. I swear we haven't been drinking."</p><p>The swimmer laughed, probably more than it really warranted. His goggles hung loosely around his neck, the pink impressions of them still framing his eyes. Not quite looking at Ed, he murmured, "I'm sorry—I’m sure you’re quite serious. It's just...the deadpan way you said it.”</p><p>Ed smiled shyly. He couldn’t remember the last time he found someone’s <i>laugh</i> so alluring. It was quiet for a moment, but not necessarily uncomfortable.</p><p>"I usually...'' The man seemed to be testing the waters, so to speak. Ed gave him an unconscious nod as if beckoning him to continue.</p><p>“I usually swim for a lot longer in the evenings, but I'm just dead tired. Not 'I want to go to sleep' tired, you know, just," he let out a genuine sigh. "Exhausted. Had to get up at the crack of dawn for clinicals. Then classes. Then my job."</p><p>"Clinicals?"</p><p>"Sorry, I'm a pre-nursing student. It's when we go to hospitals and shadow working clinicians. They start crazy early in the morning."</p><p>Ed nodded. “Well...I applaud you for it. I mean, learning something that’s gonna help people.”</p><p>“I'm Tom, by the way,” the man replied, in a rush of breath. </p><p>“Edward. Or, well, Ed.”</p><p>“Do a lot of people call you Ed? For some reason…” He watched Tom scrunch up his face in contemplation, looking a bit like a confused puppy dog in the process. “You seem like more of an Edward.”</p><p>Ed hummed. “People I like call me Ed,” he answered carefully, “yeah."</p><p>Tom gave him a cryptic sort of look. Then, after a beat, "I feel like I've seen you around campus." </p><p>With the small size of the university, it wouldn't be a surprise. Ed tried not to read too deeply into it. It was just one of those conversational things people say.  But still, he managed to awkwardly blurt out his reply. </p><p>“I haven't. Seen <i>you</i>, I mean. I would have remembered.”</p><p>Tom blinked slowly.</p><p>Shifting on the inlaid cement seat, Ed’s foot accidentally brushed one of Tom’s. Neither of them pulled away.</p><p>"Could I ask what you're studying?" Tom gently prompted.</p><p>"Business.” Ed tried not to grimace. “Well, at least, that's what I've put down. Seemed better than saying undeclared, somehow. But that's not really...what I'm sure I want to go into. So I'm sort of just taking general classes now.” He pushed a curling strand of wet hair out of his eyes. It was certainly in need of a cut.</p><p>Meanwhile, Tom seemed to hang off his every word, as completely mundane as they were. He felt like he should say something else.</p><p>"I do like English, though," Ed continued tentatively, "I'm taking a creative writing course I'm really enjoying. More than I thought I would. And, um. I like literature. I read a bit of poetry too—I mean, in my free time. And I write a bit of it."</p><p>It was something he hasn't even mentioned to John or George--not because he thinks either of them would really give him a hard time, just that it was sort of personal, and he didn't want to be asked to share his work with anyone. At least not yet.</p><p>Tom bit his lip. A perfect bead of sweat, or simply moisture from the steam, trickled between his eyes and down the straight line of his nose. “I think that’s someplace I’m a bit lacking—the humanities. Classics and all that. I wouldn’t know my Byron from my Brontë.” He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “But I’d certainly like to learn.”</p><p>Ed wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t imagining it, but he thought he felt Tom’s foot slowly, purposefully grazing his ankle, before moving up along the line of his calf. He swallowed, trying to formulate just what he might say next.</p><p>The sensation of a hand on his shoulder shattered the moment.</p><p>“Good heavens, Nedward. Aren’t you a chatty Cathy this evening!”</p><p>It was George, of course, using Ed as leverage to sink into the jacuzzi. John wasn't far behind, using the handrail to situate himself on Ed’s other side.</p><p>“Ma’am,” Ed quipped dryly to George, “Childrens’ hours ended at five. You’ll have to take your twelve-year-old son home, now.”</p><p>George cackled. “Does that make you the baby daddy?”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Ed thought he saw Tom angle George a sharp, curious glance.</p><p>“I’m only five months younger than Ed is,” John practically whined. “Idiots.” He turned to Tom as if he only just became aware of the man sitting half a meter to his right. “Oh, I know you. You come into the student store to talk to Will sometimes. Tom, yeah?”</p><p>Ed remembered John’s coworker from the few times John has mentioned him in passing. From all accounts, he was a stereotypical hipster art history major, who possessed a passing resemblance to Vincent Van Gogh, and the customer service skills of a long-dead artist to match.</p><p>Tom nodded pleasantly. “We live together. I mean, we’re flatmates. Honestly, we both keep such different hours, I practically see him more at the bookshop than at our place.”</p><p>Ed wasn’t particularly good at reading into these sorts of things, but he could have sworn Tom was trying to avoid some particular implications. Perhaps he had been reading nearly everything wrong. For all he knew, Tom could have been gay but already in a steady, yet closeted relationship. Or maybe, he and Will really were just flatmates, and he wasn’t even into men at all.</p><p>Still, he could have sworn that the spark of lightning that had run through him from Tom’s touch must have been mutual. </p><p>He went quiet as the conversation sporadically continued, about school and current events and nothing in particular. Maybe fifteen minutes or so had passed, when Tom got out of the hot tub. Ed averted his eyes as he did, conscious that he might just be making a fool of himself by practically mooning over a guy he just met. </p><p>Soon, the three of them followed suit, reluctantly leaving their relaxing pocket of warmth.</p><p>“Before either of you say it, I call dibs on using the shower first back at the flat,” chirped John, toweling his hair the best he could for the brief but chilling walk home.</p><p>“Not if I get there first,” countered George, in a sing-song voice.</p><p>Ed glanced over his shoulder at the men's’ locker room. “I might just use the showers here. See you guys later.” </p><p>By now, he thought, Tom might already be dressed and on his way out. There was no need to feel awkward.</p><p>Instead, when he entered the room farthest down the corridor, where the two shower stalls were, one was clearly still running. Without a word, he stepped into the other one and locked the stall behind him. The warm water was nice at least, to the chill that had come over him after leaving the jacuzzi, and at least now he’d be freshly showered for his early morning classes that next day.</p><p>He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying very hard not to think about the fact that Tom, almost definitely, was standing in the buff just an arm’s length away from him.</p><p>On the other side of a dividing wall, of course.</p><p>After jamming the button on the dispenser about twelve times in an attempt at distraction, he resigned to the fact that there was no shampoo for him to use. He knew the strong scent of chlorine in his hair would bother him by the next morning.</p><p>
  <i>Brilliant.</i>
</p><p>“Sorry to ask, but,” he cringed as the words left his mouth, his voice raised just enough to be heard above the sound of the water, “Do you have a bottle of shampoo or something? The thing’s out on mine…”</p><p>“Oh. Sure, yeah.” he heard, muffled by the water. </p><p>For one full harrowing second, Ed realized how provocative the situation was. If Tom <i>had</i> been interested in him, Ed following him into the bloody showers probably seemed like the least subtle way to respond in turn. </p><p>He really had just wanted to take a shower, simple as that, but now his mind reeled with the possibility of Tom waiting outside his stall door, shampoo in hand and covered by nothing but soap suds, with the undeniable intention of joining Ed under the hot spray. A shiver went straight through him.</p><p>Without warning, a set of long, graceful fingers appeared over the divider, just above his head, holding out a peach-pink pump bottle over it. <i> Ah. </i></p><p>He could have slapped himself for letting his mind run away with such a ridiculous fantasy.</p><p>As soon as Ed took it, another matching bottle followed. They were rosewater scented shampoo and conditioner respectively,  boasting a nutrient-infused, vitamin-rich formula, guaranteed to give you “fully moisturized, petal soft hair,” while being free of sulfates, silicones, parabens, dyes, or mineral oil--some of which Ed hadn’t even heard of before.</p><p>As he lathered some of the sweet-smelling product into his hair, he sheepishly thought of his bottle of men’s 3-in-1 Shampoo, Conditioner, and Body Wash that sat in the shower back at the flat. Absently, he wondered what Tom would think of that.</p><p>“Appreciate it,” he mumbled, as he handed both back over, Tom’s fingers just barely brushing his in the process. Ed could hear that the other shower had stopped. He pressed the side of his face against the cool, wet tiles, holding his breath, almost imagining again that the other man might—</p><p>“Have a good night then,” Tom called out, as Ed heard the even patter of his thick-soled leather shoes leaving the locker room.</p><p>He turned the shower’s dial to cold, standing under it for as long as he could bear, before finally getting dressed and heading home.</p>
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